


It Could Have Been Socks

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: 2012 TS Secret Santa Drabble Days prompt "gift exchange", Christmas fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2020-04-06 06:24:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19057030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: It's time for the CPD Christmas Gift Exchange, and Jim's in for a little surprise.





	It Could Have Been Socks

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2012 TS Secret Santa Drabble Days prompt "gift exchange"

Rhonda called out another name and Gennaro strutted up to her desk to claim his present. Gennaro was of the slash-and-burn school of present unwrapping, and within a handful of seconds the bullpen was resounding to catcalls about the foam Cheesehead he was holding up.

It wasn't easy to be a Packers fan in Cascade.

Blair settled his butt more comfortably on Jim's desk and chugged more eggnog. Jim had given up on protesting Blair's choice of seating ten minutes ago, but he'd stayed in his chair, not exactly partying down.

"Jim," Rhonda called, and Jim rolled his eyes and mouthed, "Socks. From Brown," at Blair, then stood up, just as Rhonda continued, "Yours is from Blair."

That earned Blair a sharp look as Jim walked around his desk. "I know Henri had my name. What did you do?" he said in an undertone when he walked past, not waiting for an answer.

Rhonda handed Jim his gift ,and Blair bit back a laugh as Jim eyed it warily. Jim was no Gennaro and he took his time unwrapping the box. He took his time looking at the contents, also.

"Huh," he said eventually, holding up the certificate Blair'd created in PrintShop, "Sandburg's actually promising to do some work. Got it in writing."

"Where, here?" Simon asked with a smirk. "About time."

Blair snorted — discreetly — and Jim grinned. "Sorry, sir. This slave labor's all mine. Two weekends of extra chores around the loft. Guess there really _are_ Christmas miracles."

After Jim made his way back to his desk, he cocked an eyebrow at Blair and Blair shrugged. "I talked H into trading you for Rhonda. It wasn't easy — you're a popular pick in the gift exchange, since whoever draws your name can just grab a package of white socks at Walmart and call it a day, apparently."

"So," Jim lowered his voice after a glance to make sure nobody was nearby, "'chores?' Is that what you're calling it now, a chore? I'm flattered."

"Maybe I really _meant_ chores, Jim. Didn't that occur to you?"

"Nope. It isn't occurring to me now, either. Like I figure it," Jim lowered his voice even further, "two weekends' worth of 'chores' looks better on a piece of paper I have to unwrap in the bullpen than two weekends' of 'catering to my every whim in bed.' How am I doing?"

 _Busted._ Blair grinned. "Detective of the Year. Unless you really _want_ the more traditional interpretation. Which I'm hoping you don't, but my PrintShopped word is my bond. Your call."

"I ought to, just for the hell of it." A corner of Jim's mouth quirked up. "But regrouting the bathroom tile can wait. Although watching you grout might just turn me on."

"Jim. Don't make me regret not buying you socks, man."

Jim eyed the certificate, then looked at Blair from under half-lidded eyes. "I'm pretty sure neither of us is going to regret this, Chief."

Blair was pretty sure neither of them would, either.


End file.
